A Tale of two princes
by Abydos Jackson
Summary: A character study. Alistair and Cailan - two brothers living seperate lives, each with a destiny to fulfil. Another one added back to the site. Just for fun.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note – I don't own these characters. I'm aware that this may be going against cannon. Where I could find the information I needed, I used it. Where ****I ****couldn't, I've made it up to fit with the story. Apologies to any purists if I've got it very wrong. Apologies also if this title is already taken. It just seemed right. Sorry for any glaring typo errors. **

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9:5 of the Dragon Age – Redcliffe – 25 years prior to the Blight.

The midwife was superstitious and this was an ominous night to give birth. It was late and the candle flames flickered casting eerie shadows on the walls. The wind howled over Lake Calenhad rattling the shutters menacingly and although the room was warm the midwife shivered.

She held the hand of a pretty young woman and wondered at the fairness of life and the folly of men. The woman was exhausted, her dark hair hung limp and damp around her face causing it to curl slightly. A fevered blush stood out starkly against her pale skin, but it was her eyes that caused the midwife distress. She knew.

She'd worn a mask when she'd given her little girl a lingering kiss and sent her away with a serving lass, but it had fallen away as she'd left the room and she turned to the midwife with such anguish in her expression that the older woman's breath had caught. "This isn't right, is it? Something's wrong." She'd gasped "It wasn't like this with my Goldanna"

But that was many hours ago, and now the woman's face was set and determined as she pushed her son into the world. The midwife worked quickly and wrapped the crying baby before settling him gently beside his mother. As the woman pulled her baby close and pressed an exhausted kiss to his soft cheek he stopped crying and with unusual awareness for an infant gazed solemnly into his mother's eyes. The midwife watched as something seemed to pass between them. "Alistair…" the young woman whispered his name and stroked his downy hair with a trembling hand.

The midwife stepped quietly to the door and whispered to the guard standing outside. She didn't completely understand why the Arl wanted to know immediately the child was born, although she secretly wondered if the Arl's brother, Teagan was involved again. "A healthy boy." The guard was told. "But the woman…" She glanced back at the mother guiltily, "The mother's very weak. If there's a healer in the castle, they should be sent for." She closed the door firmly and was both touched and heart broken to witness these first loving moments between mother and child. The woman was barely awake now but was gazing on her child, drinking him in. Their eyes never left each other.

9:5 of the Dragon Age – Denerim – 25 years prior to the Blight.

"Cailan, come back!" The governess called laughing at the little boy who was rushing headlong down the castle corridor, all awkward arms and legs. He stopped and skipped around her in an agitated little dance. "But the messenger was wearing Uncle Eamon's colours and his letters _always_ include a present for me, Maria." He pouted.

"Let your father have a moment before you charge in like a mabari hound, child." She chastised gently while she tried to smooth his blond hair down. He relented to her fussing and hopped slightly from foot to foot while she tugged his tunic straight.

"Maybe it will be a book, like the one he sent last time? " The boy wondered as he chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Uncle Eamon promised me the full set of 'Ferelden History' when we last visited Redcliffe."

The Prince eyed the door to his father's study, but waited patiently until the messenger backed out of the door with a sombre expression on his face. Cailan took his chance and left Maria in the hall way as he slipped in the door, full of the confidence of a boy cherished by his parents.

King Maric stood leaning by the window looking out over the training yard. Something about his posture made the Prince stop before announcing his presence. A sheet of fine parchment was crumpled in his father's hand and his head hung down, his shoulders slumped. Cailan cocked his head to one side, puzzled. His father always stood straight and proud. He was always larger than life, but his present bearing made Cailan uneasy.

"Was your message from Redcliffe?" He finally asked as he slipped his hand into his father's in his childish acknowledgement that something was wrong that he didn't understand. Maric looked at him blankly for a moment before answering.

"Yes. Eamon sent you a history of the Grey Wardens, Cailan." He said quietly.

The Prince loved his father's deep and booming voice, but this was different. He looked like Cailan imagined he'd looked himself when he'd been caught in the Palacekitchens with his hand in the cookie jar. Was that guilt behind the King's eyes?

"Is everything alright in Redcliffe, father?"

"Yes…No." Maric sighed and appeared to think before moving to a chair and pulling Cailan into his lap. "Cailan, I learnt a lesson today. That a man needs to have authority and control over himself before he can hope to have authority over others. I wronged someone and now it's too late to apologize."

"But I'm sure you didn't mean to…." Cailan looked up at his father in confusion.

"No, I didn't mean to, but I did and now I have to do what I can to clean up my mess. "

Cailan's face fell. The King had never admitted a weakness to anyone. And here he was, desolate, confessing a wrong to a seven year old boy.

"Maybe mother can help?" Yes, mother could make anything better, Cailan thought.

"No!" Maric snapped and Cailan gasped in surprise. Maric had never looked at him in such a way.

Maric visibly tried to calm himself. "I don't want to worry your mother over this, Cailan. Please don't mention this to her. We don't want to bother her, and to be honest, I'd rather she didn't know. We'll keep this between us. Man to man." Maric smiled without humor, his eyes burned into Cailan who stepped back slightly.

"Yes, father." He managed to say before he was handed his book and pushed carefully but firmly towards the door.

As he left the study Cailan looked up at the governess who had been waiting for him. "Was the messenger from your Uncle?" She asked innocently.

Cailan nodded absently, but looked back at the door with a puzzled frown. He didn't know how to express it, but he felt different now. Wrong somehow. He followed Maria back up the corridor feeling older than the little boy who had hurtled care free down here earlier.

Please, please, please…do I sound like I'm begging (?) review. It really helps to get a few positive comments and pointers on how to improve.


	2. Chapter 2

Usual disclaimer…just in case. I don't own these characters, but I do enjoy playing with them very much! No beta so hopefully I'm spotted all the errors.

Haven't yet read David Gaider's books, so have no real model for Maric. But there is a copy winging its way from Canada as I type!

Alistair is about 8 in this chapter. Cailan about 15. Explanation for this at end of chapter.

Alistair – 9:13 of the Dragon Age – Redcliffe

He'd tried to stay clean, he _really_ had, he told Lady Isolde, but the Anderfels bitch that belonged to the Captain's son had just pupped in the stables and he'd had to go and see them, he'd promised his friend he would. Oh, and it wasn't his fault that in doing so he'd managed to kneel in something best left unidentified, and smear his clean shirt (his _new_, clean shirt) with whatever blood and mire was left over from the birthing process. Well, he'd had to pick one up, hadn't he? Alistair grinned hopefully up at the arlessa who eyed him coldly. He wrinkled his nose at her, "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" He stated flatly.

A freshly scrubbed Alistair now stood in the arl's private family quarters fidgeting nervously. Of course he understood that the King and his son had come to visit and that he was to be presented, and no, he hadn't intended to cause the busy Arlessa any problems, but he'd been anxious and needed to take his mind off the impending meeting.

He thought back to the evening before. Hidden among the bustle of the castle servants Alistair had caught a glimpse of Maric and Cailan as they'd arrived. He had no illusions of being accepted as family but he had to admit his curiosity. Alistair had no memory of his mother and these were the only people in the world who shared his blood. He'd peered at them through the commotion and activity of their arrival and had stood frozen at the first sight of his father. He could feel his heart pounding as he studied the man's features and recognised himself there. The King moved with the fluid grace of a warrior, confident and sure and Alistair was mesmerised. Maric looked like a hero from the old tales.

The sound of arl Eamon's voice snapped Alistair's thoughts back and he turned his attention to the door. His stomach churned uncomfortably and he brought his hand up quickly to feel the reassuring presence of the amulet he always wore under his shirt. And then the door opened.

XXX

Alistair perched on a wall in the courtyard, his legs swinging slightly as he ate an apple and considered the meeting. Without the pomp and pageantry Maric was less intimidating than he'd expected. The King had asked the boy polite but distant questions, enquiring as to his interests and his education. Did he like sword craft? Yes, very much. Did he enjoy his lessons? Yes, as long as they were short. And then, "Are you happy, Alistair?" Maric was looking at him now. _Really_ looking at him and Alistair opened his mouth in surprise. In that moment he was aware that someone was focussing entirely on him. Not in that absent way that busy adults had when dealing with children. Alistair the bastard, Alistair who was always in the way, always an inconvenience to someone somewhere. _'I'm sorry.'_ Maric's eyes seemed to say. '_You deserve more'. _

"Happy?" Alistair stuttered, confused. "I like it here. Cook lets me lick the bowl when she's baking, and if I promise not to ask too many questions I'm allowed to watch the Knights train. Is that what you mean, My Lord?" 

Maric hesitated then rested his hand lightly on Alistair's head and met his eyes intently. "Work hard, Alistair. Listen to arl Eamon and his lady." And then he was gone, leaving the boy staring after him. Maric was a man, after all, Alistair thought. Not a hero from the old tales. Not willing to be _his_ hero. He sniffed, while knowing you can never be accepted is one thing, to have it demonstrated before your eyes is quite another.

XXX

Alistair looked up as he recognised the arl's presence and realised that the Prince was with him. He hopped down quickly, thrusting the apple behind his back and wiping his mouth quickly on his sleeve. "Alistair, there you are." The arl smiled at him. "I wanted to introduce you to Prince Cailan."

The Prince seemed to study him with interest. "Alistair, is it?" He nodded as he looked the boy over seeming to satisfy something in him.

Alistair bowed awkwardly. "Greetings, your Highness."

This formality made Cailan chuckle with amusement. "Quite the little courtier, are we not? I was on my way to the armoury. Uncle Eamon has some new Orlesian blades." He winked conspiratorially at the boy. "I'm hoping he'll let me chose one for myself. Do you want to come?"

The boy considered him for moment taking in his long blond hair, immaculate clothing and earnest expression before shaking his head in a quick 'no'. He watched them make their way to the armoury before allowing his eyes to narrow in childish anger. "_Little_ courtier!" His inner voice exclaimed in irritation. "Condescending idiot!" He took another bite of his apple and remembered the new born pups. He smiled and shrugged off any remaining gloom. "Well, you can't choose your relatives." He told himself and bounded back to the stables.

Extract from the Memoir of his Royal Highness Prince Cailan – 9:13 of the Dragon Age 

It pleased me to be visiting Redcliffe after so many years. We hadn't been there since I was a little boy and it almost felt like I was coming home. Eamon and Teagan come to court, but it was nice to see Mother's home again. I miss her still, and my Uncles have always been good to me.

It was also good to be free for a while of Anora. She's still furious with me and I was glad of the opportunity to escape. I shall have to be more discrete in the future; the maids do gossip so!

Father had been quiet as we approached the castle. I was aware of his history here, but surprised that he hadn't made the journey many years previously. Out of curiosity, if nothing else. I admit to feeling intrigued myself and was keen to meet the boy.

Father's little indiscretion. I think I'd have known him anywhere. A miniature little Theirin; though his colouring is slightly different and his hair stands up stubbornly at the front. Teagan speaks highly of him, although Lady Isolde, dare I say it, seems to behave quite spitefully towards him. I myself found him pleasant, although quite in awe of me, of course; the poor boy could barely speak, although he met my eyes boldly. I found myself liking him. I wouldn't admit this to father, but it pleased me to know I wasn't alone in the world, and this boy has some spirit, I'm told. Perhaps I can persuade father to bring him to court.

Author's note:

Yes, yes. I know Cailan's meant to say "Ooh, Swords!" and run off, but my Cailan needed to be old enough in chapter 1 to understand some of the emotion that Maric was feeling. I couldn't see a teenage Cailan running off like a child so I tried to keep the situation similar in content (i.e. swords and armoury) whilst changing the nature of the conversation. I also wanted to give Alistair something to feel slightly annoyed about when describing his first meeting with Wynne in their conversation. In trying to be kind, Cailan is meant to come across slightly patronising to an Alistair who is feeling slightly let down. I think he'd understand a word like 'condescending'. Alistair, after all, is not _actually_ stupid. He just pretends to be sometimes for a quiet life! ;)


	3. Chapter 3

In particular for Shineera, That Crazy Halo Girl, Kamikashi, Sati James, Merithea, and of course, NO BLAHBLAHBLAH. You asked to see the missing chapter. I hope it's ok.

This is the missing chapter you may have 'heard' me waffle about. It should sit between chapters 2 and 3, so you might want to recap on chapter 2 before you read this.

Alistair age 10. Cailan 17.

XXX

Alistair – 9.15 of the Dragon Age – Redcliffe. Arl Eamon's study.

The blood drained from Alistair's face and his mouth opened in dismay. "You want me to leave?" He gasped, wide eyed.

Arl Eamon looked uncomfortable but Alistair didn't fail to catch the look of triumph on Isolde's face. Alistair, we…that is, no, I don't want you to leave, but it's time to think about your future. The Chantry will see to your education and the Templars will continue your arms training. You can't spend your life running wild around Redcliffe. It's time for you to fulfil your potential. "

Hot tears threatened to fall as Alistair tried to understand what the Arl was telling him. "But I want to stay here. I want to join your castle guard and be a knight. Captain Hayward says I'm skilled with a sword…."

"Alistair, you're very talented, I know that, but this isn't just about weapons training. The Chantry can provide a far better education for you than we can here. They'll be other boys your age. You'll enjoy it; it will be fun for you." Eamon's voice was gentle, pleading almost and Alistair looked frantically from him to Isolde. The Arlessa looked back at him, a satisfied little smile on her face and Alistair riled.

"This is your doing isn't it, Lady Isolde?" Alistair drew himself to his full height, his fists tight and face tense. "I apologised for the incident with the cage. I promise I'll behave. No more trouble. Just, don't make me leave….please. This is my home."

Isolde crossed her arms over her chest and glanced at her husband. "It's too late, Alistair. The decision has been made and you need to trust that your guardian knows what is best for you. It's time for you to leave Redcliffe behind."

The Arl reached out for him and Alistair knocked his hand away, his face twisted with emotion. "I don't understand, my Lord. I'm happy _here_. Everything was fine before you married…" He glared at the Arlessa with venom in his eyes unable to finish his sentence.

"Alistair, I'll visit, I promise you that. But Lady Isolde is right. The decision has been made. You leave tomorrow morning when Teagan leaves for Denerim. He'll escort you." Eamon stepped away from the boy awkwardly.

"Tomorrow morning?!" Alistair shouted. "Tomorrow is the harvest festival, I'm meant to be taking part in the procession! This isn't fair! Don't do this!"

The Arl shook his head sadly and spoke to him gently. "Alistair, I have to go attend to other things. I suggest you pack your things. I'll speak to you later."

Alistair slapped his hands down on the Arl's desk. "Don't bother! I think you've said enough." He frantically tore at his shirt until his hands found the amulet he always wore. He tugged until it snapped and held it up in front of the Arlessa. "Time to leave Redcliffe behind?" He demanded, and flung it at the wall. "Fine! Redcliffe and _all_ my memories of it! I hope you're happy!" And he ran.

Eamon glanced over at Isolde, his eyes heavy with a sadness she'd never seen in him before. He shook his head at her miserably. "He's right, Isolde. I hope you're happy now." He walked purposefully away from her without waiting for a reply.

XXX

Alistair ran fast and hard through a veil of frustrated tears until he couldn't run any longer. He dropped to his knees in a solitary spot by the icy waters of Lake Calenhad and wrapped his arms tightly around his torso, rocking back and forth. He sobbed until there were no tears left and turned a tear stained and grubby face to look towards the castle in the distance. He'd never felt so empty. _This is what it is to leave your childhood behind_ he thought and sniffed. Standing, he brushed himself down. One less thing for the Arlessa to pick him up on. He steeled himself, locking away the hurt as best he could. "Fair enough." He said out loud, jutting his chin out in defiance. "I can do this."

Cailan – 9.15 of the Dragon Age – Denerim.

Teagan laughed at his nephew as he preened himself in front of the mirror. "Maker's breath, Cailan, you're so vain!"

Cailan turned on him, mock anger on his face. "Well, yes." He said eventually, "But it will be both my 18th birthday and my wedding day combined. I think I'm entitled to make sure I don't look too ridiculous before they make the final decisions on how to dress their puppet."

The Prince sighed, suddenly unsure of himself. "I'm glad you're here, Teagan. "I can't say I'm looking forward to this. My whole life I've been told that Anora and I will marry, but now it comes to it, I find myself envying those who can marry for love…no, no…" He added, waving aside Teagan's concerned look. "I'm fine. It's just an idle wondering. We all have our duty to do." Cailan turned back to the mirror and tugged at his finery uncomfortably. "Some of it more pleasant than others, however." He added.

Teagan frowned at him. "You and your family have many responsibilities, Cailan. I know it's not easy, but having a clear line of succession is important. People have fought wars over less."

"Well, we'll do our duty and produce as many little Theirin's as we can. " Cailan heaved a sigh.

"Yes, well…try to make sure you do. And make sure they're born on the right side of the marriage bed." Teagan added.

Cailan turned on him. "What do you mean by that?" he snapped. His eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"I mean…" and Teagan stood placing his hands on his nephew's shoulders looking him squarely in the eyes. "…that Anora doesn't deserve to hear any rumours about bastards, Cailan. Once you're married, you need to be more discreet. It's not fair on the child either. You can understand that, can't you?"

"You speak of Alistair, I presume? Father told me you took him to the Templars."

"I did. And I've never seen a child look more alone and betrayed. Make sure you're a better man than your father in these matters." Teagan wasn't often so serious, Cailan, knew, and he looked away from the sincerity in his uncle's eyes, feeling a guilt that wasn't his. The Prince nodded once, silently, and turned back to the mirror.

xxx

Author's note:

This is finally it and I can lay this story to rest now! Another big thank you for all my lovely comments. I'd like to know what you think of this one, and if it sits ok with the rest of the story. xxx


	4. Chapter 4

Usual disclaimer…just in case. I don't own these characters, but I do enjoy playing with them very much! No beta so hopefully I've spotted all the errors.

I've searched for any information about _how_ Maric died. All I can find is an enigmatic reference to him dying at sea.

My thanks to NOBLAHBLAHBLAH for an idea that turned into Cailan's view in this chapter.

Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed this story, added it to their favourites or their alerts list. It really is a huge boost to my confidence to know that out their in the internet ether someone likes my story enough to read it.

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Alistair - 9:25 of the Dragon Age – Denerim - Funeral of King Maric of Ferelden 

It was raining, Alistair noted. _Of course it was._ It wouldn't be a good funeral unless everyone was wet as well as miserable! He shivered slightly. _Cold_, wet and miserable he amended as a chilly wind swept over the mourning crowd.

Alistair was standing towards the back of a sea of faces, back straight, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Officially he was there as part of the Grand Cleric's armed escort. Unofficially, he knew his presence had been requested by the Prince himself. He just wasn't sure why.

He turned his attention to the dais and the golden casket placed upon it, shifting his weight nervously from one foot to the other. Prince Cailan and Princess Anora stood next to the casket, their faces pale as the Grand Cleric addressed the crowd. Cailan looked older than Alistair remembered. Older and tired and the image of his…their…father.

He wasn't sure how he was meant to feel. The King of Ferelden was dead. This was a shock to the nation; the King had been a man of middle years, but strong and healthy. _His father was dead._ That was a different matter. He'd long ago resigned himself to the things he'd never have. A family. A relationship with blood kin. However, it hadn't hurt half as much to have Maric walk away from him, than it had for arl Eamon to push him into the Chantry all those years ago. The child inside Alistair still hurt over that betrayal. The memory of being left still made his heart ache and he shook his head slightly as if to mentally push that memory aside.

Cailan was speaking now; of his father's life and his achievements, of his love for Ferelden and its people, his sense of honour and duty. He watched as Cailan's hand reached out to touch the casket and his voice faltered for a moment before he looked up and scanned the crowd.

His eyes met and held Alistair's long enough for the younger man's heart to jump in his chest. His arms fell to his side and his lips parted slightly in surprise. Cailan spoke of Maric as a man. Loving, yet fallible. A man who was not free of remorse and who had regrets. Some of these, they were told, were easier to live with than others.

Alistair's blood ran fiery hot and time seemed to stand still. For a brief moment, it was just him and Cailan and a lifetime of unspoken words. Cailan gave him a brief, barely perceptible nod before the reality of the situation returned and Alistair was bustled further back by the press of the crowd.

He walked, as fast as he could, and with no sense of where he was going until he found an area of quiet. His back to an alley wall, he slid down, his head in his hands and his eyes closed tight against the molten emotion erupting inside. He tried to use his training to master the sensations and to seek control of them and then threw his head back until it thudded against the wall behind him. His chest was so tight it felt like it was trying to fold in upon itself. No! Not this time. He'd shown control and restraint for too long. He stood up, eyes burning. This time, Grand Cleric be damned, he was going to get drunk!

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Cailan - 9:25 of the Dragon Age – Denerim – after the funeral of King Maric. Cailan's study.

Cailan sat at his desk, his head resting on one hand as he re-read the latest report from the Grand Cleric. Certain phrases stood out. "…formidable and skilled in combat….Loyal… focussed on his duty…talented scholar….righteous…" Cailan allowed himself a sad smile at what followed. "…Inappropriate attempts at humour….reluctant to take position seriously…..tendency to sass his instructors and peers…"

He looked up as Anora entered the room, pushing the paper to one side. "Is everything well?" He asked her. "I'm sorry I left you. I needed some time to myself."

She spied the paper in his hand and sighed, exasperated. "Cailan, you're not reading that again! I don't understand this. Why do you insist on carrying your father's guilt in this matter? Lots of men have bastards…. " You might even have a few of your own, she added silently with a steely glint in her eyes.

Cailan stood, his eyes downcast for a moment before moving around his desk to stand before her. Anora knew him to be a man of flowing words and sweeping gestures. Exuberant warmth and gracious smiles. But the look he gave her now was cold and calculating.

"Whatever you may think of him, Alistair is my brother and of the Theirin bloodline. " His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

"Cailan, he's a bastard. Pure and simple. You've read the reports. Alistair will amount to nothing. He has no drive and no ambition…" There was a sharp hiss of anger from Cailan and Anora drew back slightly.

"What do you expect, of him, Anora! He was abandoned by everyone who should have cared. My father wronged him, and 'lest you hadn't noticed, he's the only heir to the throne Ferelden has. No woman has come to me with a claim of parentage for her child, and we've been married for a number of years now…." His voice softened as her face fell. "No, no, I have no reproach for you, my love, but I need Alistair. Ferelden needs him, and I can't pretend not to care as my father did. You have your way in many things, Anora. Let me have this one thing."

Anora's eyes narrowed. "As you wish, but you should know that the Landsmeet would never accept him. There's only a handful of people even aware of his existence."

Cailan placed his hands on her shoulders. "Your father knows. I trust him to do what's right should anything happen to me."

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Thanks for reading. I struggled with this one. It was harder than I thought it would be. One more chapter to go. Ostagar.


	5. Chapter 5

Usual disclaimer…just in case. I don't own these characters, but I do enjoy playing with them very much! No beta so hopefully I've spotted all the errors.

I know I said that this next chapter would be the last, and set in Ostagar. I didn't lie…exactly. – Author's note at the end explains where this one came from! Next one is the last, I promise.

Apologies to Duncan fans. He became a little mischievous; I think he's been spending too much time with Alistair!

Thank you also to everyone who has reviewed this story, added it to their favourites or their alerts list. It really is a huge boost to my confidence to know that out there in the internet ether someone likes my story enough to read it.

Alistair - 9:30 of the Dragon Age – 6 months prior to the Blight.

Duncan closed his eyes and shuddered slightly, mentally counting to ten in an attempt to control his temper. The Commander of the Grey Wardens was not accustomed to being kept waiting and he suspected that Grand Cleric Ainra was attempting to make a less than subtle point about who held the power here.

When she eventually entered the room her expression was one of righteous self-satisfaction. Smug, Duncan thought, before pushing aside his distaste and greeting her with a small, courteous bow. The Cleric sat down behind her desk ensuring a physical barrier between herself and the Warden. "Please, sit down." She waved a slender hand absently towards a chair and shuffled a pile of papers officiously.

Duncan smiled apologetically. "My thanks, but I prefer to stand. A warrior's habit, I'm afraid. We're not very good at sitting still."

"As you wish." Ainra stated coldly. "I understand you wish to speak of one our Templar's in training? Alistair, was it? What has he done, now?" She sounded resigned to a complaint and was not able to conceal a dissatisfied sigh at the mention of the young warrior's name.

Duncan considered her carefully before speaking again. "The lad has impressed me, actually. He demonstrated a remarkable determination and resilience in the Tourney. Resolute and unwavering in each of his combat rounds. These are qualities I have much admiration for."

"I see… Ainra replied suspiciously. She leaned back in her chair and eyed Duncan warily. "And for what reason are you telling me this?"

Duncan couldn't help but smile slightly. She was right to be distrustful. After all, he was the one holding the final Ace up his sleeve. "Alistair informs me he has yet to take his vows. Is this correct?"

The Cleric snorted in irritation. "Alistair has yet to do many things, Commander, one of which is to prove his commitment to the Chantry and to his calling as a Templar!" Her face was a little pink, Duncan noted. Good. Time to shake her up a little further.

"And therein lies the point, I believe. Alistair was not, as I understand, 'called' to the Chantry. He was placed here, by his guardian." He crossed his arms and studied her, his dark eyes never leaving hers.

Ainra was aware of being outmanoeuvred. She stood and moved to her study window, pondering her next words carefully. "You do know who he is, I take it?"

Duncan nodded. "I was friends with his father."

"Then you'll understand that by having him here, King Cailan graces us with much favour. What, _exactly_, are you proposing?" Her hands were shaking slightly, he noticed. _No, she really doesn't want to lose the prestige of having Maric's son under her roof._

"I'll state it plainly, then. Alistair displays all of the qualities required of a Grey Warden. I would like to recruit him to our order. I believe he would be better suited to life with us, than to a life as a Templar. I assume, you agree that his…character, is not conducive to life in the Circle? You have mentioned several times in your correspondence to the King that despite his obvious virtues he lacks the sombre and stoic nature valued by the Templars."

Ainra coughed and smoothed her robes nervously. "You have spoken to the King, of this?"

"King Cailan has made me aware of many things regarding Alistair. But as to the matter of his joining the Grey Wardens, I believe he has earned that right on his own." Duncan found he was beginning to enjoy her discomfort.

"Alistair should remain with us. He was placed here by arl Eamon himself and I will not have his education or training disrupted on your whim." The Grand Cleric faced him down valiantly, but Duncan could see the uncertainty clouding her eyes. How much do you _really_ want him, he thought.

"My _whim_ calls me to recruit the necessary warriors to defend Ferelden from the Darkspawn and the evil that guides it. I uphold the sacred responsibility required to identify those who are able to bear this burden! You know of King Maric's decree in this matter? I urge you to consider this carefully." Duncan spoke quietly, but with such fervour Ainra drew back.

"I…I cannot….." She started.

Duncan exhaled sharply unwilling to negotiate further. "Grand Cleric, I came here today to respectfully request Alistair's removal from your supervision to my keeping. As you will not give assent to my request I am forced to invoke the right of Conscription in this matter. Alistair will leave with me tonight. I trust this makes things clear?" He bowed sharply and left before Ainra could speak, a mischievous smile played on his lips. _I enjoyed that a little too much_, he thought.

xxx

Duncan found Alistair waiting in the courtyard carrying a small pack of is possessions. He stopped and studied him. The grin on the young man's face was infectious and he couldn't help but return it. "Alistair, you don't even know the outcome of our…discussion. Why the smile?"

"_Everyone _knows the outcome, Duncan! The Grand Cleric's climbing the walls! We should probably start running now, you know." He beamed at the older man, unable to restrain his delight.

Duncan shook his head in mock despair. "Really, Alistair, it's unseemly. You could at least wait until we left the gates."

Alistair rearranged his face into a sombre glower for a few seconds before it dissolved again into amusement. "It's no good. I can't do it! We should go before anyone notices, do you think? Now perhaps? I've got everything I need. No need to hold back. Let's be off. Where are going, anyway?"

Duncan closed his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. "We'll go soon. Is there no one you want to say good bye too?"

That made Alistair's smile falter. "Not really, no. I just _really _would like to go. Now."

Duncan placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slightly before letting him go and looking him up and down, noting the patched leather armour. "Soon enough. First, we need to get you some proper mail to wear!"

xxx

Cailan - 9:30 of the Dragon Age – 6 months prior to the Blight.

Cailan absently flicked through the pages of a book he'd had since he was a child. "A History of the Grey Wardens" he read the title quietly.

"What was that, love?" Anora asked from her place by the fire.

"Nothing, nothing..." He murmured stretching out with a satisfied sigh.

"Did I see a message with a Grey Warden seal today?" The Queen asked quietly, trying not to appear to pry. She eyed him carefully. He never could hide anything from her.

"Just a note from Duncan. He's uh…recruiting again. He wanted to inform me that the Order's numbers are on the rise. That's good, yes?"

"It is." She agreed. But why the contented little smile, she wondered.

Cailan closed his eyes in pretence at a nap and heard Anora's quiet puff of annoyance. He remembered stories heard at his mother's knee. Swords and monsters, magnificent glory and triumph. Fame and admiration. _Lucky bastard!_ He smiled to himself in barely contained glee. Never amount to anything? We'll see.

Author's note:

Do I reveal my personal character flaw here? Why not? I'm needy! There, I said it. It didn't seem to me that this story had touched many people. I wanted to keep writing it for myself, but decided to cut some chapters out. What was the point, after all if not many people were going to read it? Then I had a few nice reviews…followed by a few more; and then some wonderful support from NOBLAHBLAHBLAH and Shineera, so I added a chapter back in for fun. That will teach me! *Slaps wrist* Must not reveal weakness again.

I


	6. Chapter 6

9:30 Ostagar – the King's forces prepare to meet the darkspawn horde.

Alistair was furious. He paced, fists tight and held by his side, as the army camp readied itself for the forthcoming battle. Duncan's words rang in his head. _This is by the King's personal request_. He was to be kept out of the battle, away from the wardens, and sent on a fool's errand! _They don't want to risk losing their spare Theirin! _He thought scornfully, a bitter taste in his mouth. He kicked out at a stone and sent it flying into the undergrowth. Frustration rose in him, icy tendrils wrapping themselves around his heart.

No matter how hard he ignored or fought against it, his blood was going to define him forever. _It's not fair_ the little boy inside him despaired. He strode to the relative quiet of the ruined South West tower. The clamour of the camp was muted here and he forced himself to calm, breathing out as much tension as he could. He rested his hands on a ruined wall and looked out over the Korcari Wilds. Duncan knew him well. Alistair would always do his duty and therefore he could always be manipulated. _Do I even know what I want_, he wondered. He remembered the way his stomach had flipped with relief when Duncan's new recruit had made it safely through the Joining. She'd seemed just as indignant at being excluded from the battle, he recollected, and thought about the spark that ran through him when she expressed this. _You're so beautiful_, he'd wanted to tell her, but muttered something ridiculous about wearing a dress instead. He shook his head in despair. _I really am an idiot!_

XXX

"You risk all for personal glory, Cailan! Your reckless obsession with the Grey Wardens could damn us all!" Loghain's voice carried beyond the King's tent, scorn and contempt evident in his tone.

Cailan's usual amenable nature evaporated and fire flashed in his eyes. "You presume too much, Loghain. The Wardens are worthy of our trust and the honour I do them is in memory of my father. We've beaten the darkspawn before and we will do so again." He turned away as if the conversation was over and was surprised when Loghain grasped his shoulder, turning him back.

"Do not play the politician with me!" Loghain spat. "I've known you too long. This has nothing to do with Maric, and everything to do with you playing the hero! War is not a glorious and magnificent game, boy. It's a necessary evil to protect our people and our lands. Your determination to view this situation as your personal playground leaves me cold."

Cailan riled, his face twisted in anger and his fists clenched. "How could you think so little of me?" He exclaimed. "You are Anora's father and my trusted advisor but if you ever speak to me like that again I will have you in a cell!"

"Yes, let's talk about Anora." Loghain sneered and he stepped close to the King, his eyes blazing with emotion. "Have you considered you duties as a husband to her recently? I note you enjoy the company of other women of the court, but rarely attend to the Queen as your responsibilities dictate!"

Cailan was taken aback, but waved this aside. "That is not your concern, Loghain. Anora has what she wants from our relationship. Power and prestige. That's all she cares about…."

He was interrupted by Loghain stepping into his space, their faces almost touching. "Watch your words carefully, Cailan." He hissed. "Remember who you're speaking too. My daughter has kept your throne safe. She makes the decisions you're incapable of!" He exclaimed in disgust at the blank expression on Cailan's face. "With your leave, _my king, _before I say something I might regret…" and he left; Cailan seething with emotion.

XXX

Alistair heard footsteps approaching and turned, expecting to see Duncan. He hadn't expected to find a mirror image of himself and stumbled over a polite greeting looking confused and dismayed. Cailan waved his attempts aside and sighed. "Alistair, you, of all people, don't need to concern yourself with that nonsense around me. You deserve that, at least." He stood beside him, resting his hands beside the younger man's on the wall. "The ruins are wonderful, are they not? Do you know their history?"

Alistair looked at him, his head to one side, and a question in his eyes. "I know it's been abandoned for centuries, your Majesty." He wasn't oblivious to Cailan's flinch at the use of his title. _This was an interesting, if awkward, game, but what were the rules?_ He waited for the King to play his next move and noticed the tension around Cailan's eyes.

"Duncan speaks highly of you." The King turned his head to Alistair and gave him a sincere smile. "I'm quite envious, you know. To be a Grey Warden must be a wonderful thing. I'm honoured to have you all by my side."

Alistair considered him for a moment before deciding to take a risk. "Not all of us. I won't be with you. If you recall, I'm banished to the tower." He rocked slightly on his feet, ready to back track if he had too.

Cailan looked shocked, but then took him by the shoulders noticing Alistair was a little taller than he was and words kept back for years poured out. "Do you want me to say it's not fair? It isn't. Never acknowledged, but expected to do your duty nonetheless. Abandoned by your parents, rejected by those in whose care you had been placed. Sent away and made to feel you never quite measured up to everyone's expectations of you, and finally finding a place with the Wardens and being told you can't be with them when it matters most. I'm so sorry. It shouldn't have been this way, but I need you… alive preferably."

Alistair opened his mouth in surprise, his anger deflated by Cailan's heartfelt words. He looked so earnest in his apology that all his pent up tension left his body and he glanced down at his feet in confusion. "I don't know how I'm meant to react, Cailan. You're my King. I've never allowed myself to think of you as anything else." There was an uncomfortable silence as they studied each other, and then a warm and easy smile crept onto Cailan's face reminding Alistair so much of his own that he couldn't help but return it. They stood grinning at each other for a moment before the older man spoke.

"Look, I've sprung this on you. I just needed you to know that I've thought of you often, and that perhaps, if you're willing, we could talk further when all of this is over? Forgive me for sending you to the tower. After all…" he nodded vaguely in the direction of Duncan's campfire where the Warden's newest recruit waited. "….the company should be welcome, yes?" He clapped his brother on the arm in a friendly gesture. "We'll speak later, Alistair. Stay safe." He met his brother's eyes in a last, silent farewell, smiled again and left a flustered Alistair watching his retreating back.

XXX

Duncan's newest recruit nervously waited beside Alistair, ready to move towards the tower and light the beacon on his mark. She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. "I'm sorry you have to baby sit me. I know you'd rather be with Duncan and the others." She admitted eventually. He flashed an open smile at her. "Yeesss, because you're so defenceless!" He drawled sarcastically. "Duncan and the King have their own reasons for sending me to the tower. Probably, for _you _to baby sit _me_! What can I say? I'm a handful." She returned his smile with relief, he noted and a sparkle in her eyes. His heart thumped in his chest. _Maker, look at_ _the way she wields those dimples! Definitely not defenceless._ He shook his head in mild amusement at his own predicament. "Come on, let's go."

XXX

Author's note:

To coin an American phrase, "You guys are awesome". I've really enjoyed writing this story, and although it hasn't been the most popular of my scribblings in terms of traffic, it's been received in the most positive of ways by all of you who have stuck with it through to the end. So, my sincere and grateful thanks for sharing the journey with me. Oh, and I couldn't resist adding Cousland – I've missed her!

I'd love to hear from anyone who has enjoyed this. In particular, what you liked, and didn't like. I tried really hard to get the character's right, but I haven't always been successful.

I mentioned in my last Author's note that I'd lost confidence and so shortened the story. Although I eventually added one additional chapter, there is still one missing. Unfortunately it falls between Chapters 2 and 3, and I have no idea if it's possible to insert a chapter at this stage…I'm not the most techy of people! For those who care, it would have been based on a 10 year old Alistair being sent to the Chantry by Eamon and Isolde, and possibly the wedding of Cailan and Anora. Maybe I'll do it as a one shot. Let me know if anyone's interested.


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